Voices No One Else Can Hear
by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: Someone is thinking lustful thoughts about Ron - and he can hear them! A Potions accident results in unexpected people saying crude things. He needs a cure, but he also wants an answer.
1. Chapter 1 POTIONS

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,_Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

CHAPTER ONE: Potions

Ron had enough trouble trying to concentrate in Potions lessons, what with Snape ready to pounce on the slightest mistake, Neville allowed near naked flames and the room being half full of sneering Slytherins. This morning was worse than usual, though, because it was the first lesson and part of his mind was still in that dream he'd had last night.

He stared at the blackboard, reading the same instruction three times, then looking over to see what Hermione was doing. In the dream he'd been lying on a bed of sugar quills with the bass player from The Wyrd Sisters and the Cannons' new Beater. He dug around in his bag for his silver knife because that was what everyone else seemed to be using. The Cannons' Beater he'd dreamt about before - she was hot - though she'd never stroked him with confectionary before. What was bothering him slightly was the bass player. It was only a dream, though, right? It was OK to dream about a naked man, wasn't it?

Hermione nudged him and shoved some daisy root towards him. Then she turned back to stirring her own pot.

He hadn't even been aware of noticing the rock star's biceps. Only then this morning when he'd checked the poster by his bed, they had turned out to be exactly the same as he had dreamt them. The guy was wearing the same vest and everything.

Was that frog's blood Seamus was using, or liquid fuchsia? He checked the board again.

"What on earth is that supposed to be, Weasley?" Snape asked in his usual encouraging way twenty minutes later.

"It's the … er …" Ron looked at the board again.

"The instructions I have written up there are for the Tarnishing Potion."

"Yes, sir. Tarnishing Potion," Ron mumbled.

Snape peered into Ron's cauldron.

"Are you trying to tell me, Mr Weasley, that what you have here is a Tarnishing Potion?"

"Yes, Professor." Honestly, though, why would anyone ever want a potion that tarnished things? That meant making them dirty, didn't it? Dirtying things was easy, that just happened. It would be a lot more useful if they learned how to clean them up again.

Snape was still sneering down his hooked nose at Ron, so Ron followed his gaze into the cauldron. It looked pretty good to him, clear and liquid, no smell, no explosions.

"What colour is the fluid in your cauldron, Mr Weasley?"

"It's colourless, Professor," Ron answered, wondering where this was leading.

Snape turned to the Slytherin side of the classroom. "Mr Malfoy," he purred, "perhaps you would be so good as to show your classmate what colour a correctly manufactured Tarnishing Potion should be?"

Malfoy stood up, looking very pleased with himself and dipped his ladle into his mixture. Not only did the ladle come out looking like it had suffered twelve years of neglect in two seconds, but the substance he poured from it was an opaque dark green colour.

"Oh," Ron said. He looked over at Harry's and Hermione's potions. Dark Green. Even Neville's was sort of khaki.

"Well done, Mr Malfoy. Twenty points for Slytherin. Stand up Mr Weasley."

Reluctantly, Ron did. The Slytherins sat back comfortably in their chairs, all of them watching him and enjoying the show.

"Now, I know you're not the brightest in the year, but I was under the impression that you were capable of reading. Are you, in fact, literate, or has Miss Granger been reading for you for the past five years, as well as providing you with all the answers? Do speak up, we can't hear you."

"I can read, Professor."

Harry and Hermione were trying to sent him sympathetic looks, but they were making him feel worse.

"Could you take a few moments, then, to read down the list of instructions on the blackboard so you can pinpoint the exact moment of your mistake."

Ron started reading feverishly. He couldn't really remember anything that he'd done so far that day. He was aware of being watched, of the silence filling the room. He couldn't think straight.

"Don't hurry yourself," Snape said, dripping sarcasm. "We're all quite happy to wait for you."

"Sorry, Sir." He had not got a clue.

"Pray enlighten us. At which precise stage of this very simple operation did you commit some gross stupidity?"

"I don't know."

Snape's flapping black sleeve flew through the air and he thumped the desk in front of Ron. Hermione leapt back, suppressing a squeak.

"Did you follow my instructions exactly?" he hissed into Ron's face.

"I think so …" Ron answered desperately.

"You followed those instructions and you produced that?"

"I didn't say that."

"Fill your vial. And the rest of you do the same, come along. It's nearly the end of the lesson. We've wasted enough time on this imbecile."

Ron felt his face redden. With a trembling grip, he splashed the clear liquid into the glass container and stoppered it. At least his classmates had stopped staring at him now that they had something else to concentrate on. Snape was still regarding him steadily, though, with narrowed eyes.

As everyone started to pack away their wands and quills, the Potions Master finally turned and crossed back to his desk. Ron was profoundly grateful. It turned out, however, that the sadistic teacher had only moved further away so that when he next addressed Ron his voice was loud enough to carry to the whole room.

"Tell me, Mr Weasley, what would be the effects of drinking a Tarnishing Potion? Miss Granger, put your hand down. I'm watching you, don't whisper to him as you usually do."

"I don't know, Professor," Ron replied, blushing again.

"Mr Nott?" Snape asked the Slytherin student, without taking his eyes off Ron.

"Nothing, Professor."

"Well done, Mr Nott. Another twenty points for Slytherin. The correct Potion would be entirely inert in the human digestive system. Of course, if Mr Weasley here has, as he claims, followed my instructions faithfully, then the same will be true of the contents of his cauldron." Snape's voice deepened to a decidedly nasty tone as he instructed, "Put some in a flask."

Ron did his best. His whole body was shaking and his skin burned with blushes as he was thrust centre stage. The Slytherins had sat back down and were chuckling at the entertainment. The Gryffindors looked on apprehensively.

"Drink it!" Snape ordered with a voice like a machete sheathed in silk.

Ron's throat dried out. "What is it?" he croaked.

"I thought you said it was Tarnishing Potion. It looks nothing like any Tarnishing Potion I have seen in my decades of experience of Potion making, but that counts for nothing when weighed against your innate cleverness, doesn't it?"

"I never said --"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for back-chatting a teacher, along with another twenty for carelessness in following instructions."

Ron's housemates were glowering at him now. It wasn't his fault that he'd already lost them thirty points this week. He hadn't meant to break that window in Charms. It was just that he couldn't be taught anything first thing in the morning on account of these dreams. He'd absent-mindedly waved his wand arm while recalling how he'd caught that snitch which Madame Rosemerta had fired across the lake out of her …

"Now, will I make it fifty more points for failure to obey a direct command, or will you drink the contents of that flask?"

Ron rapidly pulled himself back from the image of the barmaid inserting the Quidditch ball between her legs. He looked round the room, at the amused Slytherins and angry Gryffindors, at Hermione's worried expression (bless her) and Snape's quiet triumph.

He lifted the flask, threw back his head and swallowed. It didn't taste of anything. The room took on a deep silence. Everyone waited for something to happen to him. Ron felt dribbles running down his chin and onto his chest. He waited for the gasp. Nothing.

Snape shrugged. "Well, whatever you've made, it's clearly as ineffective as you are. Class dismissed." He turned his back on the class. Then he added, in the same superior tone: "I'd like to lick your handsome face, to follow the trail of droplets with my tongue."

Stunned, Ron gasped, "What did you say?"

Snape turned slowly to face him. Ron looked round at his fellow pupils. That couldn't be right, his teacher couldn't say that to him. Nobody else seemed to mind, though. They were busy packing their bags, pushing in their chairs, double-checking that their fires had gone out.

"Are you addressing me?" Snape asked, all soft and dangerous. Then, as Ron gawped at him, without moving his lips he added, "I'd lick your cock until you came and then I'd swallow down your hot, creamy spunk just like you swallowed down that potion."

Ron stumbled backwards. Snape wasn't speaking. Only Ron could hear him. Something was very wrong. It was probably something to do with that stuff he'd just swallowed. Don't think about swallowing. Trying to fight visions of thin, sallow lips wrapped round his naked flesh, Ron pushed his way out of the classroom, fervently hoping that he hadn't been cursed with the gift of mind-reading.

"What's up, Ron?" someone asked as he knocked them out of the way.

A few steps further on, he realised that it had been Dean, but he didn't answer him. Hearing voices no one else could hear wasn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.


	2. Chapter 2 THE GREAT HALL

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,_Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

CHAPTER TWO: The Great Hall

Ron felt sick - deeply, stomach-pit nauseated. He was also exhausted and confused. He rocketed through the hallways, up stairs, down corridors, trying to get Snape's words out of his head. Whether it was the mystery potion he'd been made to drink, or the images bouncing round his brain, or some actual illness, he didn't know. But he did know that something was making him feel distinctly unwell. Ron finally summoned enough self-control to give his feet a direction.

Madame Pomfrey ran every known diagnostic test on him and found nothing. Ron had explained what had happened in the Potions lesson and how he had felt afterwards. He had missed out the bit about Snape wanting to lick his cock until he came, because that was just too embarrassing.

"I think that perhaps it's psychosomatic," Pomfrey eventually said with an exasperated sigh.

"Is that bad?" Ron asked. "Is there a cure?"

"It means it's all in your head. These symptoms - dizziness, churning stomach, shaking, are all down to nerves. You're just scared that you may have ingested something which could harm you. If you could just calm down and accept that the liquid was harmless, then I'm sure you'll be fine."

Ron decided that it was time to own up. Very quietly he told her, "I've had hallucinations."

"That'll be the agitation, too," the witch dismissed. "Now, whatever lesson it was you were hoping to avoid has just finished. I suggest you get down to the Great Hall, get some food inside you and forget about it all."

Ron started to protest, but she cut him off with, "There's nothing wrong with you! Go away!"

He was one of the first students to arrive for lunch and when he sat down he realised that he was quite hungry. Most of the rest of his class had been in Divination and by the time they had made it all the way down from Trelawney's tower, he was eating his fourth chicken leg with his second baked potato and feeling a lot better.

"Where did you get to?" Harry asked, plopping down next to him.

Ron was concentrating on spearing a cherry tomato as he answered, "Hospital Wing. Thought I'd better get checked out." But then he made the mistake of looking at Harry's face as he added, "Don't know what was in that stuff Snape made me drink."

Harry was looking at the pumpkin juice and he was probably listening to Ron, but what he wasn't doing was talking because his mouth was definitely closed. Despite this, as he was finishing his explanation, Ron distinctly heard Harry's voice asking, "I wonder what you'd look like naked?"

Ron gawped. This was too mad. Harry? No. He couldn't be hearing Harry's thoughts because Harry didn't think about him like that. Did he?

That nausea was starting to rise again, but Ron found himself having another physical reaction as well, one which he was quite sure he didn't want to be having. Not caused by Harry.

Harry was silently selecting salad, but his voice was still going: "Lying on my bed, covered in oil."

Ron felt someone sit down on his other side. He turned gratefully to Hermione, who was saying, "If you'd bothered to pay attention during the lesson then you would know what you'd drunk." Well, that's what her mouth was saying, in its usual prim, nagging way, but somehow at the same time her voice also managed to be saying, "Is your pubic hair red, too?"

He focussed on his potato and the sound stopped. He had lost his appetite, though. He felt dizzy. This was all too horrible. The blood rushing to his cock wasn't helping either. Snape and Harry and Hermione? This wasn't right, this wasn't happening.

"Ron are you quite well?" Hermione asked.

He nodded without looking at her. Then he shook his head.

"Is it because of what Snape made you drink?" Neville asked, from the other side of the table.

Instinctively, Ron looked over to him. Immediately he wished he hadn't.

"Baby oil, I could rub it in. Wait, no, something edible would be better. Then I could lick it off again. Lick chocolate sauce off your …"

Ron put his hands over his eyes and Neville's voice stopped. He took a deep breath. If he could just calm down, then maybe this would end. That's what Pomfrey had said. Something strange had just happened. Something that was not more strange than hearing obscenities no one else could hear, but something that was a different sort of strange.

Oil. Neville had been talking about oil. Harry had been talking about covering Ron's naked body in oil. Neville had continued Harry's thought. In fact, maybe Hermione had been continuing the same thought. He ran it all together in his mind: 'I wonder what you'd look like naked, lying on my bed, covered in oil? Is your pubic hair red, too? Baby oil, I could rub it in. Wait, no, something edible would be better. Then I could lick it off again.' That worked. It didn't work on making him feel any less disorientated, or any less turned on, but it worked together, it could have been a single person's train of thought.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He was going to have to test this. He took his hands down from his face to find his friends all watching him with concern. Slowly and carefully he looked around, looking from one face to another.

"A massage might make you feel better, a naked …" Seamus said without moving his lips.

Then Dean added, in the same way, "… massage lying between my thighs. I'd be …"

"… naked, too. I would rub oil all down your back and into your buttocks. Oh, I bet …" Neville continued.

"… you've got a gorgeous bum, all tight …" Lavender moaned.

" … and firm and white. I could bite …" Pavarti's voice said.

"… hard and leave a mark. Then I'd turn you over and …" Harry panted.

Ron looked at the floor. He squirmed uncomfortably. Strangely, the boys' voices had had just as strong an effect on him as the girls' ones had. He thought about Aunt Muriel, he thought about flobberworms, he thought about Snape. He worked on getting his erection back down again.

A silver lining occurred to him. At least now he knew that this wasn't straightforward telepathy so Snape probably didn't want to give him a blow job. That was a relief.

Somebody did though. Probably. Maybe it wasn't even as straightforward as that.

"Ron! Ron!"

He realised that he had been ignoring Hermione.

Carefully avoiding looking at her, he answered, "Yes, Hermione?" He didn't sound calm.

"If something's wrong then you're going to have to tell us what it is or we won't be able to help you!" she snapped.

It sounded like the snapping she did when she was worried, rather than the kind where she was telling him off, but it was difficult to tell with Hermione.

He had to make a quick decision. He didn't really want to tell anybody anything, but - on the other hand - if there was anyone who could work out a solution, then it would be her. He wanted to tell Harry, too. Harry would laugh at him, but at least he'd probably then manage some sympathy, which was more than he could expect from Miss Bossy Knickers. Not knickers, don't think about knickers. Argh! Mustn't think about no knickers either.

He dug his fingernails into his eyebrows to try to distract himself and muttered, "Not here. Talk about it later."

He got up, moved away from the table, careful to avoid looking at anyone. It certainly helped when he didn't look at anybody. He tried to gather his thoughts. What would he be able to tell his friends about what was happening to him?

It had started when he had drunk that mis-mixed Tarnishing Potion. When he could see someone, he could hear their voice, but the thoughts appeared to be the thoughts of one person - one filthy-minded, apparently infatuated person. Was it even him they were infatuated with? He felt a burden start to lift. He wasn't attractive. Nobody could fancy him. These were probably just stray erotic thoughts which were floating around and he had happened to pick them up.

But no. Red hair, pale skin, liquid dripping down his chin, the way he'd swallowed --

He could hear someone following him out of the Hall. He hoped it was Harry and Hermione and that they would be able to find somewhere quiet to talk. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching his own footsteps. He looked up once to check where the door was.

" … cup your nuts and squeeze gently, then …" Dennis Creevey appeared to say before Ron managed to get his gaze beyond him.

He could hear footsteps running behind him. Then his name was called. No! He kept his head down, kept walking. He was grabbed by the elbow.

"What is the matter with you, Ron?"

"Nothing, Ginny."

"Then look at me."

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you. I can tell when you're lying. Look me in the eye and tell me nothing's wrong. See you can't do it."

His baby sister was surprisingly strong and she had hold of him now, she was spinning him to face her. He was feeling distinctly queasy again.

Then in a tone that was too close to their mother's to be disobeyed she ordered, "Ronald Weasley, you look at me properly now!"


	3. Chapter 3 ENTRANCE HALL

Voices No One Else Can Hear:/u

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_**, **Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

CHAPTER THREE: The Entrance Hall 

"-- your spunk spraying out all over my chest, getting in my hair, sticking to --"

Ron looked away from his little sister's sweet freckled face. "Feel sick," he muttered with complete honesty.

"Look at me properly!" Ginny demanded.

Ron braced himself. He took a deep breath. He would look only at her mouth and ignore anything she seemed to be saying when it didn't move. Not that it would be difficult to work out which words were the result of the potion.

He lifted his gaze from the dusty wooden floor of the hall and looked her in the eye.

" -- moaning, panting, screaming out in ecstasy --"

At the same time she was actually saying, "No, you don't look right, you should go to Pomfrey."

He pushed back the mental images. At least he didn't have to worry about the hard-on any more. That was long gone.

The same voice in which she asked him to pass the carrots, or whether he'd seen Harry, or what the latest Quidditch scores were, asked, "How deep could you thrust into me? How hard? How long would you last?"

"Been to Pomfrey," he choked out. "Gotta class."

He wrenched his arm free of her grip and turned away. The sight of the empty space between him and the door was like breathing cool fresh air after a long exam. He bolted through the area. He was alerted to nearby Slytherins by Nott's voice, but managed to close his eyes having heard nothing more troubling than the word 'play'. He knocked his shoulder on the door jamb, but he didn't care. He had no intention of working out what the context of 'play' might have been.

"Ron!" Hermione called behind him.

He knew it was actually her actually saying it because he couldn't see her. He stumbled blindly into something sharp and cold which clattered around him. It was probably a suit of armour, but he didn't care what it was. He was just grateful to have something - anything - to curl up underneath. He ignored the bruises and put his hands over his face.

"Ron?" Hermione asked. "What's going on?"

"S'there enwun else c'n'ear?" Ron asked her from his rusty place of sanctuary.

"I'm not going to stand hear trying to decipher --" she began impatiently.

"He asked if anyone else could hear," Harry explained. Thank goodness someone understood.

It was comforting to lie on the rough, freezing stone of the floor with heavy metal pressing against his flesh and what felt like a sword prodding his earlobe, listening to muffled disembodied voices saying mundane things which didn't refer to parts of his body being … best not to finish that thought.

There was a metallic rattling and shuffling and some of the weight lying over him shifted, then Hermione whispered, "It's just me and Harry." She patted his knee in what was probably supposed to be a supportive way, but which, given the way he was lying, was a little too intimate to be comfortable in his present circumstances.

"Snape's trying to kill you, isn't he?" Harry asked. So, nobody understood.

Ron's two best friends wheeled out their favourite argument about whether Snape was evil or not, covering all the same old ground which Ron really wasn't strong enough to be subjected to again.

It was more to shut them up before it all got out of control again than for any other reason, that Ron said, "I'm hearing voices."

"Are they threatening to rip and destroy and maim and --?"

"No, Harry. Only you hear the horror movie stuff."

"You're special like that," Hermione crowed proudly.

"Mine's more, um … got a different sort of Adults-only rating …" Ron mumbled.

"Swearing?" Hermione asked. "Radical politics?"

"Sex!" Ron replied, a little louder than he had intended.

"You're hearing sex?" Harry asked. "You lucky bastard. Focus! You might be able to see it, too!"

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded. "What does sex sound like?" she asked Ron.

"It's not that. It's … someone thinking about sex. With me."

It was a good thing Ron couldn't see the suspicious looks his two best friends gave each other.

"Who?" they both asked at once.

"Male or female?" Harry added.

"Don't know."

"How can you not …? Look, Ron. We can't talk about this with you lying there like that. Why don't you sit up and we'll go find somewhere quiet and have a normal conversation --"

Ron cut off Hermione's strident attempts: "I can't. I can't look at anyone. If I do then it's their voice saying the … erm … stuff. I thought at first I was mind-reading and it was Snape who was …" Ron's voice broke down into a kind of retching choke.

"This started when you drank the potion?" Harry checked, his voice once again taking on the familiar paranoid whine it often had when discussing anything which might involve their Potions Master.

"Harry, go and check the coast is clear!" Hermione ordered sharply. Ron thought she was probably just trying to change the subject but, after another clattering noise and the sound of retreating footsteps she hissed, "Was it about stockings?"

"What?"

"These sex-thoughts, did they involve lingerie?"

"Lingerie?"

"Muggle underwear usually worn by women, but sometimes, erm, by … and some people might like that. Erm … garters, red lace, fishnets and hairy legs … you know."

"What, me wearing girl's knickers?" Ron's voice was high pitched with alarm.

"Exactly! Black satin."

"No!" Ron snapped. Great! Now he had a whole new set of disturbing ideas to try to shake off.

"Good." Hermione sounded relieved. There was a pause, then she asked, "Don't you like the idea?" This time she sounded disappointed.

Luckily Ron was spared having to answer by the return of Harry's footsteps.

"All clear," he said.

"Right!" Hermione announced. "I'm off to the library to research this! I'll see you in the next lesson. Harry, it's your job to get Ron to Care of Magical Creatures without him seeing anyone."

That was the next lesson? Oh, great. Hagrid or Grubbly-Plank. Ron couldn't decide which would be worse.


	4. Chapter 4 CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_,Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

CHAPTER FOUR: Care of Magical Creatures 

Cautiously, Ron and Harry made their way out of the castle and across the fields towards Hagrid's Hut. Harry kept a guiding hand on Ron's elbow and Ron was careful to look only at his own feet.

"I wonder why I don't hear my own voice?" he mused.

"You reckon it's all the thoughts of the same person?" Harry asked.

Ron laughed. "Oh, yeah, 'cos the world is just full of people who want to get off with me!" he said sarcastically. Then he added, "It sort of ties together. I mean, I'm trying not to think about too much, but what I remember … er, yeah, probably one person thinking it."

Harry squeezed Ron's elbow reassuringly. "It'll be all right. Hermione's probably found the right book already and then we'll get you back to normal in no time. Any idea who it might be?"

"Just hope it's not Snape," Ron muttered. "That was horrible." As was hearing Ginny, but he didn't even want to mention that to Harry.

Harry patted Ron's arm reassuringly. Then he asked, hesitantly, "This was at lunch, then, that you heard these sexual fantasies, was it?"

"Yeah! I mean who thinks about sex at lunchtime? With all that food around?"

"Oh, yeah. Weird." Harry stroked Ron's shoulder reassuringly. He put a supportive arm across Ron's shoulder - well, as high up as he could reach anyway. Then he asked, "No animals involved were there?"

"What do you mean, animals?" Ron asked, shocked.

"You know, like snakes or anything?"

"Is that a euphemism?"

"A what?"

"Snakes aren't sexy!"

There was a pause, during which Harry's hand slid reassuringly down Ron's back. Then he mumbled, "Well, they sort of are. Draped round shoulders. Naked shoulders. I mean, some people might think that," he added hastily, seeing the appalled look his best friend was giving him. "So I guess there was no snake mentioned, then, by this somebody, whoever …"

Ron shook his head to try to erase yet more disturbing images.

"No little white loin cloth?"

"Harry! What are you on about? First Hermione was -- oh! Oh! Harry I'm looking at you."

"Yes?" Harry gazed back.

"And I'm not hearing anything!"

Harry was so excited for his friend that he gave him a reassuring little rub on the buttock.

"Do you think I'm cured?" Ron asked. He raised his head and looked about him. "Hallelujah! Thanks, Harry. I can walk on my own now, I can see where I'm going. You can let go."

Harry sprang back with a hearty, manly chuckle. Ron looked about him, he looked back at the castle and the third-year Hufflepuffs mooching towards the greenhouses. He heard nothing. He looked over to the Lake, where Madame Hooch was polishing broomsticks. Nothing. Actually, hearing suggestive stuff in Hooch's voice while she ran her hands up and down that shaft might not have been too awful. No, no down-sides! He was celebrating! He was free! He looked ahead of them to where the Gryffindors and Slytherins were gathering for Care of Magical Creatures. He could only hear the wind.

A few feet further on, Hermione caught up with them but, unusually for her, she wasn't carrying any books.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I couldn't find any --"

"Hermione! Hermione!" Ron started happily, as they walked together. "It's stopped, I can't --"

But then Hermione's voice floated into his mind without her lips moving: "… love the way your hair shines in the sun …"

"Shit!"

"Do you mean you're constipated, Ron? Because there are better ways of expressing that and I'm not sure that it's a relevant symptom!" Hermione snapped - mouth moving and everything.

Not that Ron saw, he had his hands over his eyes by then. It was pretty obvious that that sentence wasn't the result of the Potions accident, though.

"Has it come back?" Harry asked, chancing a reassuring tap near the waist, but withdrawing his hand before Hermione spotted it.

Ron just nodded dismally.

"It happened as we approached the rest of the class," Hermione mused. "Keep walking, Ron, we'll tell you if you're going to hit anything."

Harry took hold of Ron's hand anyway, to be on the safe side.

"I wonder if there's some kind of limit to how far the thoughts can travel," Hermione was whispering to herself, "If we just moved into range …"

"It's Hagrid and he's holding some kind of giant pink slug," Harry hissed at Ron as they settled themselves towards the back of the class. Ron kept his eyes closed.

"Fungorus Fenticulus!" Hermione supplied, in that despairing tone which indicated that the combined I.Q.s of the whole of the rest of humanity failed to match up to hers.

"What's one of them then?" Ron asked.

"It's a kind of giant pink slug," Hermione conceded, gracelessly, adding, "We're standing still, Harry. You can let go of his hand now."

Hagrid started the lesson. While he droned on about correct feeding routines, larvae, mating habits, venom-milking etc., Ron thought about what Hermione had just surmised. If they had moved into the 'sex-thinker's' range as they got closer to this group of students, then that meant that he had been hearing the thoughts of someone who was in their school year and in either Gryffindor or Slytherin.

_Somebody wants to get off with me and that person is my own age and standing very near to me now,_ Ron thought. That wasn't such a bad idea. He couldn't help speculating about the teenagers surrounding him and try to work out who it might be.

Or it was Hagrid.

Ron decided to ignore that possibility. He wondered whether his admirer was paying attention to the lesson, or indulging in secret fantasies. He peeked through his fingers at Hermione's shoe.

"… run my fingers through your hair …" she seemed to purr.

Still the hair? How fascinating could anyone find hair? It was several minutes since the remark about it shining in the sunlight.

"… over firm muscle to your nipple …"

Chest hair. Fair enough. Perhaps The-Admirer-Whose-Identity-Was-Not-Known was mentally working his or her way down Ron's body. Ron felt a tingle of anticipation.

"… how hard would you like me to squeeze it?"

Ron raised his gaze to Hermione's leg. It was a nice leg in a fairly short robe and combined with the mental visions her soft voice was supplying him with, it made him quite horny.

"Do you like it a bit rough, Ron, or do you want me to be gentle?"

His name! She was actually saying his name, so she really was thinking lustfully about him … Except that it might not be Hermione, probably wasn't Hermione. It would be nice if it was - he tingled a bit more - but he was just hearing her voice because he was looking at her.

"… a butterfly kiss on each freckle, all down your arm …"

Arm? That was veering off course a bit.

Actually, it might be better if it wasn't Hermione. That lingerie stuff had been a bit worrying.

Of course, he could make it whoever he wanted. At least, he could make it sound like anyone. It was time he took control and started to get some pleasure out of this situation. Who did he want to hear? Well, Lavender was pretty hot - nice tits anyway.

He looked past Hermione, scanning the crowd for the curvaceous Miss Brown. On the way he heard Pansy Parkinson's throaty voice declaring "I'll suck on those long, pale fingers!" He shivered. In a nice way.

Then he saw the back of Lavender's head and she said, "I'll show you how well I can suck your …" and a jolt of electric sensuality ran straight to his cock.

He nearly moaned out loud.

He realised he'd closed his eyes and opened them wide, concentrating on her shoulder. He'd already missed the crucial word.

"You'll take me by the hand and pull me over to a chair. Fix me with those fierce blue eyes …"

Ron had no idea where he was, he was gliding through erotic visions, carried by Lavender's voice. It felt so good.

Lavender bent down and he was looking at another back. He had a moment's panic and then Dean's voice said, " … grab my chin and pull me near …" and that felt pretty good, too. It felt good enough that Ron kept his gaze on Dean's uniform and swallowed hard as the London accent promised to "… kiss you right back, as hard as I can, my tongue stroking your lips, pushing my way in …"

He was distracted by an elbow in his ribs. Hermione shoved him forward. Then he realised that Hagrid was calling out, "Gather round properly, those of you standing at the back won't be able to see this otherwise. Come along Harry. You get round here by me."

Oh no! Ron was so aroused he could hardly walk. He shuffled up to the pen full of disgusting looking molluscs. Hagrid grabbed hold of one of them. No! Not Hagrid!

Hagrid up-ended one of the long, thin pink things and firmly stroked his huge hand up and down it as his voice slammed into Ron's head, saying, "… an' while I snog you hard you'll take hold of me thigh an' I'll sit down in your lap."

At least he'd lost the erection.


	5. Chapter 5 SLYTHERINS

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _Here you go, tragicluv, though I know it's not precisely to your taste, I hope it will do.

CHAPTER FIVE: Slytherins

Ron sagged against the bars of the pen which contained the Funky-whatever-Hermione-said slugs, feeling frightened and unwell. Hagrid's voice, which had always felt unthreateningly yokel before, now seemed full of innuendo as he lectured the class on the uses of the various body fluids of the Something-beginning-with-'F'-I-can't-remember-just-nows.

Ron kept his eyes closed and tried to pass out. His knees lost a little rigidity, but he couldn't get the blackness to pull him in. Suddenly, he felt a sharp jab in his back. He gasped and straightened up, but had the presence of mind not to spin round to see who was elbowing him.

"What is your problem, Weasley?" asked a low, rumbling grunt behind him. Goyle. Lovely! That was just what he needed right now.

"You've been acting like a tit all day, Weasel," the big Slytherin added.

"Whatever," Ron replied. He had enough to worry about.

"No, not 'whatever', actually, Coppertop. You've been looking at Pansy funny."

Ron couldn't remember. He'd been looking at all sorts of people. It wouldn't be surprising if he'd been wearing a strange expression while he looked at them. Was Pansy one of them? Then he remembered her deep sexy drawl and he couldn't stop himself from groaning. It was half an exasperated sigh, and half an aroused moan.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Goyle asked aggressively, "What you making that noise for, you keep your hands off her!"

"Whatever!" Ron snapped again.

"Is everythin' all righ' over there?" Hagrid asked.

Ron nodded and mumbled something, he heard Goyle do the same behind him.

Once Hagrid had gone back to his affectionate description of the pink-slug-things-must-ask-someone-what-they-are-called, Ron felt something heavy land hard on his foot. Suppressing a squeak of pain, he looked down. He saw Crabbe's big boot and heard his Neanderthal voice utter the word "hard" and looked away fast.

He tried not to react to having his metatarsals compressed into the muddy ground, nor to Crabbe's promise that he and his mate were going to "sort you out later", but then Crabbe hissed, "What d'you look at our bird for? You thick or something?"

Being called 'thick' by Crabbe of all people was more than Ron could bear. Rage rose in him, the red mist descended and he his temper snapped. In his defence, he had had a pretty trying day. Without thinking (which rather argued Crabbe's point for him), Ron span round to face his tormenter, hissing, "Fuck off fishface!"

Not only was this not a witty thing to say, it was also not clever in two other ways. He had just increased his chances of being beaten up later to roughly one hundred percent and he was staring right into Crabbe's ugly, misshapen, blotchy, wobbly face. He was about to hear something which would not be pleasant.

"…strew your bathwater with petals …" was what he actually heard in the harsh tones of the spawn of Death Eaters. It could have been worse.

Ron tried to turn away, but Goyle grabbed his hair from behind.

"What did you say?" Crabbe asked, his colour rising. The excited flush was a detail Ron could have done without.

"…weave the stems of bluebells into your pubic hair …" Crabbe's voice said at the same time.

Ron just gaped.

Goyle jerked Ron's head round painfully and leaned in. He glowered. At the same time, without moving his mouth, he was offering to, "lay orchids and lilies over our bed, so that their scent rises when our bodies crush them."

"Tha's enough, now. Break it up!" Hagrid ordered. "You two Slytherins, you come stand near me. Leave Ron alone."

As Crabbe and Goyle truculently shuffled off, Ron stepped back to give himself some breathing space. He closed his eyes and took in a lung-ful of fresh air. He had to clear his head. He hoped Hermione was taking good notes because he hadn't a clue what he was supposed to have learned in this lesson. He hoped there wouldn't be a practical element. He could barely manage standing up.

He opened his eyes again to find Draco Malfoy sneering at him. He closed them again. He would just stand very still without looking at anyone until the bell rang. That was the sensible approach. On the other hand, all that stuff about flowers had been quite nice. He wondered what exactly he would be expected to do while lying in the bed in order to crush the lilies. It might be something he would rather enjoy.

Not that he would have enjoyed doing it with either of the evil sidekicks. They had gone, though. Instead he was standing next to their master. Malfoy. He was an entirely different proposition. In fact, a lot of the girls said he was kind of hot. Ron could sort of see that. If he had been attracted to boys, he might even have said himself that Malfoy was, well, sexy.

Who was he kidding? He had the opportunity to hear the prince of snakes cooing sweet smut to him. His eyes flew open.

He was staring at the back of Malfoy's head. Perfect! He rested his eyes on the whispy silver hairs on the back of the pale neck and a smooth, aristocratic voice purred, "…lie beside me on the summer lawns and I'll make daisy chains to decorate your bare chest." Ron let his gaze drift down to Malfoy's elegant shoulders. "I'll kiss along your collarbone. My fingers will trace shapes through the soft hairs on your stomach."

The image was so seductive that Ron found himself wanting to believe in it. He could picture himself and Draco cuddling in the sunshine. He realised that he was staring at the rounded shape made in the school uniform robes by Malfoy's perfectly formed arse.

"We won't care what anyone else thinks of us, we'll be lost in our own world. All you will see is me. Pretty much all I ever notice is you, anyway." It was still Malfoy's voice, but it was soft and kind and without his usual sharpness.

"What are you looking at?" Malfoy snapped, reminding Ron of what he was really like. He had turned round and was snarling at him.

"Erm …" Ron offered.

"You were oggling my bum, you pervert!" was laid directly over "In spring I'll shower you with cherry blossom." The nice words were fading, though. Ron realised that the rest of the students had began to move off towards the castle.

"Erm …" Ron tried again, but it was no more effective as an excuse than it had been the last time.

"How dare you, you poor, badly-dressed, smelly oik!" Malfoy yelled at him.

Then, with a quick glance towards their retreating class-mates, he darted his head forward and whispered, "Do you want me to chain you up, Weasley?"

"Er, no!" Ron gulped hurriedly.

"I've got a leather ball-gag," Malfoy promised. "And a gryphon-tamer's whip. You'd like to feel that against your bare bum, wouldn't you?"

"No!" Ron squealed. The flowers had been much more appealing.

"Oh, yes. We can go straight to my dungeon after Charms."

Ron didn't know whether Malfoy was referring to the Slytherin dorms, or whether he actually had his own torture chamber somewhere in the bowels of Hogwarts. He really didn't want to find out.

"Fuck off, Weirdo!"

Malfoy pouted. "I'll wear my gorgeous long shiny boots and a PVC catsuit," he offered.

Ron ran away as fast as he was able.

Behind him, he heard a loud false laugh and Malfoy shouted, "Ha! That was a joke! You fell for it!"

As he watched his feet pounding the ground, Ron concentrated on floral images and tried to forget everything he's heard today about whips, snakes and fishnet stockings. It wasn't easy. Maybe Crabbe and Goyle would do him a favour and knock him out.


	6. Chapter 6 CORRIDORS

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_,Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

_A/N: Sorry, it's a bit short this time._

CHAPTER SIX: Corridors

"Oh, not again, Ronald!" Hermione denounced, glaring at long limbs curled under ancient iron for the second time that afternoon.

She helped to pull Ron to his feet, which was made all the more difficult by his attempts to clamp his hands over his eyes and ears at the same time.

"I'm going to be covered in bruises!" she complained. "I look like I've been flayed by --"

"No, don't want!" Ron mumbled inexplicably.

"This way!" She insisted shrilly, pulling him along by grabbing a handful of his robes.

For a while, the only communication which passed between them was in the form of directions and instructions from Hermione as she steered him past obstacles.

Eventually she sneered, "Oh, for goodness' sake Ron! Just look where you're going. There's no-one else here."

Ron lowered his hand and peeked out through his lashes. He chanced a quick glance at Hermione's ankle. He heard nothing. Boldly, he stared straight into her face. Nothing. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, ignoring the slight pang of disappointment.

They walked a little way in silence. Then Ron took a proper look around him.

"This isn't on the way to Charms."

"Charms?"

"Isn't that the next lesson? Malfoy said."

"What did Malfoy say?"

"I'm not telling you!" Ron whelped defensively.

"Not telling me what?"

"It involved PVC and a whip. That's all I'll say."

"You mean that's what you heard in Malfoy's voice, don't you? Not what he actually said."

Ron was surprised to find a soft sigh escaping him. "No, what I heard in his voice was all lovely, all flowers and summer meadows and I don't remember if there was skipping but it was along those lines. Only then Malfoy actually said," Ron shivered, "all this filth about things he was going to do to me after Charms, with chains and gags."

"Oh well, maybe the Slytherins have got Charms next. We've got Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws," Hermione replied, worryingly unmoved by the hints about Malfoy's kinks.

"A gryphon-tamer's whip," Ron emphasised, sure she couldn't have understood, "my bare bum, his long boots. Hang on, this isn't the way to Transfiguration, either."

"No, we've got a five minute break and I've had enough of this. I doubt you've learnt anything useful today, you've been so distracted. There's only one person who can help us."

"Distracted? Hagrid wanking off that slug --"

"Fungorus Fenticulus!" Hermione interrupted.

"Whatever! While he was whispering sweet nothings. That wouldn't have distracted you? And Snape --!"

"You have no focus, Ron. You fail to prioritise your education. Frankly none of this would have happened if you'd been concentrating in Potions in the first place."

"Oh, yeah. That was different," Ron conceded. He had been remembering that dream then. Was that a coincidence? "You know what, 'Mione, maybe there isn't anybody thinking this stuff. Maybe my own fantasies are just running away with me. Like the dreams. The potion might just be playing back my own thoughts." The idea was chilling.

"What dreams?"

Trust Hermione to pick up on the one phrase he'd rather she hadn't.

He shrugged. "Oh, I've been having dreams recently."

"Erotic dreams?"

Ron nodded.

"That's perfectly normal at your age, it's due to hormonal chemicals --"

To cut off the Human Biology lecture he added, "About the Beater for the Canons."

"Oh, yeah. She's pretty."

"I suppose you'd like to see her in a negligee?"

"No!"

"And the drummer with the Wyrd Sisters."

Hermione grinned. "Now that's different. Was he wearing satin camis? Those ballet slippers with the ribbons criss-crossing up his -- Ow!"

Hermione backed away from the pillar she'd walked into, rubbing her nose.

"You have no focus, Hermione!" Ron chuckled. "Too easily distracted."

"That's not fair! You made me think about that drummer in his undies! Or my undies. Oh." She looked at Ron, her mouth frozen in a little circle. "OK," she went on, contritely. "I see what you mean. It's not easy. Here we are!"

Hermione indicated the door they'd just reached.

"Snape's office? Hermione? Seriously?"

"The problem is a potion," Hermione began spelling out very slowly as though Ron was slow-witted.

However, she did not need to complete her careful exposition because just at that moment two familiar faces appeared in the corridor behind her. Ron had a vivid recollection of a promise made by the owners of those faces regarding something they would do to him later.

"Crabbe and Goyle alert!" he hissed and dragged her through Snape's door.


	7. Chapter 7: SNAPE'S STUDY

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."  
**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_,Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

CHAPTER SEVEN: Snape's Study

"What an unexpected pleasure," Professor Snape purred in his most dangerous voice.

"Er. Yeah," Ron offered, unhelpfully.

He and Hermione had just burst through the door into the Potion Master's office without knocking or waiting to be invited in. He had been sitting at his desk engrossed in some old-looking parchment. He hurriedly scooped it into a drawer. They were lucky he had his clothes on, Ron thought, immediately wishing he hadn't.

"We need your help, Professor!" Hermione said urgently.

"Indeed?" Snape asked, his raised eyebrow supplying the rest of the sentence, which was clearly, 'and why would I want to help you two?' He shuffled some papers on his desk ostentatiously, which could be read as 'I'm extremely busy', then leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, code for 'this had better be good.'

Hermione ignored the body language, pulled up a chair and sat directly in front of the desk. Ron's mouth dried up with fear, but he did manage to note that he wasn't hearing anything sexually suggestive when he looked at Snape. That was a mercy, anyway.

He remained standing, because Snape hadn't offered him a seat and the way his nostrils had flared at Hermione's presumption had been super scary. Hermione explained exactly what had been happening to Ron since their lesson that morning, in rather more detail than Ron was comfortable with. As her tale progressed, he realised that Snape was staring at him with something which, on the face of someone with a sense of humour, could have been regarded as amusement.

Then he realised something else. If he wasn't hearing voices, then they were out of range of the sex-thoughts. That meant he could delete Hermione, Snape, Crabbe and Goyle from his list of suspects. He had already discounted Harry and Malfoy, because their kinks bore such little resemblance to the fantasies on which he had been eavesdropping.

When Hermione finished, Snape was silent for several excruciating minutes. Finally he flicked his wand towards a wooden stool, which scooted over and hit Ron on the back of the knees.

Then he ordered: "Sit! Summarise!"

Ron sat and said, "Erm. So, it's since I drank that potion which I had done completely wrong because I'm an idiot and I should pay more attention to you." Snape nodded graciously. "Then when I look at someone then I hear their voice saying thoughts about me, but it's not their thoughts. Only sometimes it stops when there aren't so many people around."

"Describe the contents of these thoughts."

"Sexual."

"About?"

"Me."

"More detail."

Ron coughed nervously. He tried to think of something fairly innocuous. "There was … erm … flowers on a bed and then we crushed them."

"Go on." Snape had a nasty twinkle to his dark eyes. Ron hoped it was just amusement.

"Chocolate sauce. You know, like licking it off. Licking it off me. With no clothes on. That sort of thing. Kissing." He could feel the cursed Weasley blush spreading over his face and neck.

"And you are of the belief that there might be someone in this school who is actually misguided enough to choose to fantasise about you in those ways?"

"Don't know," Ron muttered.

"Of course there is!" Hermione responded sharply. "Quite a few people actually. Ron, tell him what Malfoy wanted you to do!"

"No!" Ron practically shouted. He had thought that he had turned as red as he could get, but his skin reached new heights of flaming embarrassment.

"So why can't he hear everyone who's thinking about him?" Hermione quizzed their teacher, as though this was an interesting little Arithmancy puzzle.

Snape ignored her, instead asking Ron, "What was Madame Pomfrey's diagnosis?"

Ron looked at Hermione, but it was out of habit and he knew he would have to answer the question himself. "She said it was psycho-… erm, psychic- … er, all my head."

"Few people," Snape sneered, "would be deranged enough to have such thoughts about themselves. But in your case that would be the most obvious explanation." He paused as though deep in thought. "How wrong do you think you might have got that potion?"

"Not too wrong, I wouldn't have thought."

"I'm sure I would have noticed if he'd done something completely idiotic. I usually do!" Hermione supplied.

"Indeed." Snape thought for another moment then commented, "You are unaware of the identity of this pervert, therefore you do not hear her, or his voice. The voice is carried through the channel of the one you regard at that moment. Hmm. Tarnishing Potion. Ah! Oh. A geographical limitation, possibly. Mmhmm!" Snape closed his eyes for a moment then raised one finger. "I see," he added, before opening his eyes and leaning forward over the desk and looking Ron in the face. "This sounds like …" he left a long, theatrical pause, "nothing I've ever heard of before." Then he leant back in his chair and emitted an odd wheezing not unlike a laugh.

Hermione's face fell. "You can't help us? You can't tell us how to stop this?"

"Or who's doing it?" Ron added.

Snape shrugged. "No," he said. "But I can tell you that you are late for your next lesson and take ten points from each of you. If you stay any longer then I will be late for mine and that will cost you another ten points each."

Ron sprang to his feet and leapt for the door.

Hermione stood slowly and began, "Thank you for your time, Professor, I hope we --"

But then Snape looked pointedly at his watch and Ron cut her short by grabbing her sleeve and pulling her out of the door. He set off towards the stairs.

"What's the next lesson?" He asked Hermione as they marched.

"Maybe … Hmmm," she said, with that annoying 'I think I understand everything but I'm not going to tell you until after I check it out in the library' expression on her face.

"What are you thinking? Just tell me!"

"I don't know. I'd rather check it out in the library --"

"That won't be until after the next lesson and I've got Quidditch practice after tea so it'll be hours until you can tell me. I think I have a right to know!"

"Right to know? You sound like Harry. OK, well, all I was thinking was that - I think it's Ovid - there's this theory --"

"What's that got to do with me?" They had reached to top of the stairs and were back in the entrance hall. "Where are we going?"

"What? Oh, Transfiguration."

"OK." Ron started up the next staircase. Then he stopped dead. "Hermione!" he wailed. "Transfiguration? McGonagall?" His breath came in useless little pants. "I can't!" he whined.

He became aware that they were not alone. Vincent Crabbe was staring at them from the alcove where the suit of armour was still scattered over the floor. Ron hastily straightened up and took hold of Hermione's robes again. They resumed their determined march upwards.

"Uh, excuse me." The tone was so polite that the voice did not even seem to be Crabbe's.

The Gryffindors kept walking.

"Uh, Miss Granger. Um … Excuse me."

Ron was all for legging it, but Hermione pulled herself free of his grip and turned round.

"Yes Mr Crabbe?" she asked.

Ron kept going, but he made sure he stayed within hearing range, so he would be able to rescue Hermione if things got nasty.

"Aren't you meant to be in Charms?" Hermione was asking.

"Yeah. I'm a bit late. I just. Um …" Ron decided he needed to check Crabbe's face, because something was definitely very odd.

Crabbe looked scared. Maybe nervous. He took a deep breath, then held his head high and said, "It's just that I wanted to speak to you, Hermione. Can I call you Hermione?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"Well, it's just that I heard you, I mean I couldn't help hearing, your, um, conversation earlier and I just thought I might mention that I've got a set of 'his and hers' lacy basques. With matching garter belts. If you're interested. Black with green bows. And silk cami-knickers."


	8. Chapter 8 TRANSFIGURATION

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_,Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yay! I'm finally back in cyber-world with a new laptop! I'm very happy but it's all a bit different and I'm getting used to a new system and a new word-processing program. So, that's why this is late and short. Also there may be some weird errors as I get used to everything. If you spot any then please let me know.

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT: Transfiguration

Luckily, Professor McGonagall was writing on the blackboard with her back to the class as Ron sneaked into Transfiguration as quietly as he could. He kept his eyes on the Professor, watching her carefully, hoping she wouldn't notice his late entrance. This, of course, was a mistake.

"Oh, you're here. Thank goodness! I've been so worried."

It took Ron a second or two to realise that, although he was hearing the elderly spinster's voice, she was not actually speaking. Of course. He slid into the seat beside Harry.

"I thought you were ill again. It's so lovely to see you. You look flushed. I thought you might have been ... doing things ... with Hermione. I hope you haven't. I worry, I see the way she looks at you. Please don't want her. I need you to need me the way I ..."

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said over the top of herself. She had turned round and was giving him one of her steely glares. "How nice of you to finally join us."

"Er. Sorry. Yes. Not feeling well." Ron tried to concentrate on his teacher's harsh tone and to ignore everything she seemed to be softly cooing.

"Miss Granger not deigning to bestow her presence upon us?"

Surprised, Ron looked round. It was true, there was no sign of Hermione. He had thought that she was right behind him.

"Don't know," he said gormlessly.

It was getting more difficult to shut out the thoughts McGonagall's Scottish accent was relaying. It was all so seductive.

"... want to be the only one you see, want you to stare back at me ..."

Ron was jabbed in the ribs and he realised that their Head of House had returned her attention to the board. He was jabbed in the ribs again. It was Harry, passing him a note.

_Where H?_

Harry still hadn't worked out how to spell 'Hermione'. Ron scribbled a question mark on the bottom of the scroll. He looked around the classroom. The Slytherins were on the other side of the school, up in Ravenclaw tower with Flitwick. This lesson was shared with the Hufflepuffs, who hadn't been in Care of Magical Creatures.

"... I want to take you somewhere warm and dark where we can be alone so I can finally show you ..." murmured Justin Finch-Fletchley's voice, though he was chewing his quill and staring at his text book.

Harry kicked Ron, the sweet nothings disappeared as he looked at the new note:

_What Malfoy wanted?_

Well, Ron had no intention of committing that to paper! He decided to answer the previous question instead.

_H prob in library looking up my potion. Snape no help._

Ron wasn't entirely sure about the spelling of 'Hermione' either. Harry leaned over and wrote:

_SS?_

Even Harry must be able to spell Snape, mustn't he? It was only five letters!

McGonagall got them all standing up then, reciting the spell she'd written on the board. Ron was glad that he was taller than most his class-mates. It meant he could look over their heads, look at them all, really look at them. It was a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor in his year. Not Harry or Hermione. The sweet thoughts floated over to him:

"... I'd run my fingers through your hair ..." whispered Parvati when he looked over to her.

"... your silky, red hair. I'd bury my face in it ..." Lavender promised huskily as his gaze drifted sideways.

He looked to the desk in front of the one where he stood with Harry, the one where the boys stood.

Harry forced a note into his hand and he had to look at his best friend instead. Harry's voice took over then: "... my other hand would caress your body, down your back, below your waist and you'd be as hard as ..."

Ron's attention was drawn sharply to the front of the class by the Professor tapping her wand on the board.

As he looked at her hand, she seemed to say, "... show it to me Ron ..."

He shoved the note into his pocket and tried to concentrate on the words on the blackboard. He followed McGonagall's pointing finger. He wished he didn't have to, because it was extremely disturbing to hear the old witch saying, with a firmness to her voice which sent a shiver down his spine, "... take it out and let me look at it ..."

Harry kicked him. Ron looked down at his own leg. Then he distinctly heard their teacher say, "The note, Ron. Bring it here so I can see exactly what is so much more interesting than my lesson. This is the third time I've asked you!"

Ron sprinted to the front of the classroom, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste.

"Sorry, Miss," he mumbled. "Not very well, blocked ears."

He pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket, realising that he had no idea what it said. He smoothed it out and handed it over. Together they both stared at one word in Harry's messy handwriting:

_Malfoy?_

Professor McGonagall looked confused. She looked to Ron to ease her confusion. She asked, "What does this mean, Mr Weasley?"

Ron shrugged. He lowered his voice and said, "You know what Harry's like. Obsessed."

They looked knowingly at each other. The Deputy Headmistress rolled her eyes and Ron was just about to give a cool shrug, when his face suddenly spasmed. He had just heard his teacher tell him that she loved him.


	9. Chapter 9 THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_, Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

CHAPTER NINE: The Gryffindor Table

"Thanks a lot mate!" Harry dragged Ron out of the classroom at the end of the lesson.

Ron wasn't looking at him. He was too busy examining their house-mates as they all filed out.

He stared intently at Neville: " ... wonder if I'll ever be able to tell you how I feel ..." came Nev's voice.

Did that sound right? Could Neville think like that? He seemed to be engrossed in studying his creased and stained homework timetable. Ron positioned himself beside the door.

Dean came out next and his voice took over: " ... I can't even look at you, I know I'll give myself away and I could ..."

"I've got bloody counselling with McGonagall 'cos of you!" Harry interrupted.

" ... never handle being rejected by you. I'd rather you never knew, though I do want to ..." Seamus' voice provided.

"Mmmhmm," said Ron, absently, as Parvarti came out of the door.

" ... have the chance to hold you, to push you against a wall and ..."

Ron grunted with frustration as her soft voice was drowned by Harry's whining: "I have NOT got an obsession with Malfoy. Why did you tell McGonagall that? I just know that he's up to no good, but I'm not obsessing about him!"

Ron shushed Harry, desperately afraid that the girls would turn the next corner and be out of sight before he could hear whatever else his admirer was thinking. He stared at Lavender, the last suspect. Her sexy voice floated back to him, saying " ... kiss you hard, grab your arse and grind against you, feel you as hard as me ..." Something not quite right there. Lavender's voice continued " ... rub our erections against each other ..."

Ron turned to Harry. "It's a bloke!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide.

" ... slip my hand into your pants ..." Harry said without moving his lips.

"You sure?" Harry asked with his mouth.

"Girls don't have cocks."

"Well spotted. So, what did Malfoy want?"

"Clearly not obsessed, then. I just said, it's a boy. The person thinking about me."

"The person who's obsessed with you, you mean. That's a proper obsession. Whoever it – he – is, they haven't thought about anything except bonking you all day. But somehow I get to be the one going for counselling for obsessing."

The two boys made their way down towards the Hall.

"So, what did Malfoy want?" Harry asked again.

"He loves me."

"Malfoy?"

"Will you shut up about Malfoy?" Ron realised he was looking at Harry again. He wasn't hearing anything. It made him sad. "The person whose thoughts I've been hearing. He said he loves me. That's when I went to pieces back there and started agreeing with McGonagall about you needing counselling. He loves me."

"Must be nice. But as you're straight it's not really relevant. Now, tell me what Malfoy ..."

"He wants to chain me to a wall and whip me!" Ron snapped back.

"Your admirer?"

"No! Bloody Malfoy!"

They walked on in silence for a while.

"I am straight, aren't I?" Ron said.

"What sort of whip?" Harry asked.

"Gryphon tamer's. He's got a PVC catsuit and long boots, apparently. Sick bastard!"

"Er. Yeah. Sick. Right."

Just before they entered the Great Hall, Hermione caught up with them, looking flushed and dishevelled.

"Did you find it?" Ron asked her.

"Find?"

"In the library?"

"Library? Oh, yes. OK. Library."

They sat down in their usual places at the Gryffindor table.

"Handcuffs?" Harry asked.

"What?" Ron looked between his two friends.

"Malfoy," Harry clarified. "Has he got handcuffs?"

"Probably. I don't know. Hermione, have you found a cure?"

"Cure?" Hermione started shovelling peas onto her plate. "I can't believe how hungry I am! Must be all the exercise. Um, I mean, walking to the library and back. Of course."

"What about your theory?" Ron persisted.

Hermione insisted on finishing her mouthful before asking, "Theory?"

"What about gags? Or is it a full gimp mask?" Harry asked, eating as fast as he possibly could.

Ron decided to ignore him and instead concentrated on Hermione, prompting, "Ovid?"

Hermione concentrated on her fishcakes, but her voice said, "... I could spread mashed potato between your buttocks and lick it off ..." Ron noticed then that their class-mates had all sat down, too. They seemed to be engaged in conversation with each other, though. He admired such multi-tasking ability.

Finally, Hermione gave him her full attention. Ron decided it would be best if he stared at his plate, to avoid getting too distracted.

"Ah, Ovid!" she said. "I think it was Ovid. I was going to check but something came up --"

"Quidditch practice tonight," Harry said through a mouthful of chocolate pudding. Then he stood up and dashed out of the Hall, calling behind him, "Don't forget! See you there!"

"Where are you going?" Ron called after him. But he had gone.

A group of Hufflepuffs drifted into Ron's field of vision instead and he hastily returned his gaze to his plate as Eloise Midgen appeared to start waxing lyrical about the shape of his thighs and the glistening of mayonnaise.

"Ovid," he muttered.

"Might have been Plato, actually," Hermione replied. "I read all the ancient Greeks over the Easter holiday I was eight and I get them confused sometimes. Where's he off to in such a hurry?"

"I don't know! Just hurry up and tell me! Why am I only hearing the thoughts of one person?"

"Keep your hair on! You're spraying parsley over everything. The theory is that before birth we are each encapsulated in one unit, but that as we are born each soul splits into two pieces. We then have to spend our life searching for our 'other half', our 'soul-mate'. I'm proposing that the aberrant potion which you accidently created allows you to pick up the brainwaves of your soul-mate, to tune in to his or her thoughts about --"

"His," Ron said.

"You sure?" Hermione asked.

"Girls don't have penises."

"You don't say! And is that a problem?"

"A problem?"

"I thought you were straight."

Ron assumed a martyred pose and flung out his arms dramatically. "Hermione! We are talking about my soul-mate! I'm hardly in a position to get picky about gender, am I? Sorry, I interrupted. 'thoughts about ...?'."

"Thoughts about you."

"So, he's not obsessed, then? I just don't hear what he's thinking when it's not about me?"

"You've heard nothing but eroticism, have you? Nobody could be that fixated."

"He loves me."

"That's nice. We're no closer to a cure, though."

"Or to finding out who it is," Ron mused, trying to decide whether he should have a third pudding or not. It might be just as well to be looking as fit as possible, just in case somebody was going to be rubbing him with baby oil on a petal-strewn bed later.

"Maybe that is the cure," Hermione suggested. "You have to find your other half. But I suggest you go and get ready for Quidditch practice now, because Dumbledore looks to be heading in this direction."

Ron fled the room like a cat that was just about to be scalded, leaving Hermione to smile to herself and saunter over to the Slytherin table, where Crabbe sat on his own, adjusting his bra strap.


	10. Chapter 10 QUIDDITCH

Voices No One Else Can Hear:

_**"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."**_

(Ron to Harry, in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_,Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

_WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut._

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I HEREBY DENOUNCE MYSELF AS A DISGRACE TO THE COMMUNITY OF 'THE WEASEL AND THE FERRET' BECAUSE I PRESENT TO YOU A FIC IN WHICH NOT ONLY WILL RON BE PAIRED WITH SOMEONE OTHER THAN DRACO, BUT I ALSO COMMIT THE MOST HEINOUS CRIME OF DRARRY.

I HAVE ONLY TWO DEFENCES TO MAKE. FIRSTLY, THIS STORY IS A LIGHT-HEARTED ATTEMPT AT HUMOUR AND DR/RON IS SOMETHING I TAKE VERY SERIOUSLY. SECONDLY, THE IDENTITY OF RON'S SECRET ADMIRER IS SUPPOSED TO BE A MYSTERY AND IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A BIT EASY TO GUESS IF I HAD STUCK TO MY FAVOURITE SHIP.

IN THE HOPE THAT TRAGICLUV WILL FORGIVE ME, I DEDICATE THIS FINAL CHAPTER TO HER.

CHAPTER TEN: Quidditch

Ron turned up for Quidditch practice almost an hour early. He lay in the middle of the field and soaked up the silence. It soothed his tired mind. He tried not to think about whips or loincloths or stockings; he even closed his mind to orchids and chocolate sauce. He mused on goblin rebellions and they lulled him to drowsiness like a lullaby, as always happened in History of Magic lessons with Binns.

He woke as his team-mates walked out of the changing rooms. They were in a big huddle. Their voices came to him in an erotic patchwork, promising him nights of caring caresses and mornings of debauchery. He made sure he didn't look at Ginny.

His soul-mate was in range.

Harry turned up a quarter of an hour late, adjusting his kit and wincing.

"Glad you're all here!" he announced breathlessly. "Going to try something a bit different this practice. I'd like to see how you all look from the ground, so, off you fly. I won't be getting on the broom myself this evening."

"Why not?" Katie asked.

Harry just muttered something about new training techniques used by professional teams and how she should shut up and get on with it.

Ron took lightly to the air and concentrated on his secret admirer, his other half, his soul-mate. Hermione might think he was thick, but there were some things Ron could work out for himself. Now he knew.

As he watched strong, graceful movements, Ron realised that he also knew how he felt about that knowledge: He was very happy, hopeful and not a little turned on.

Ron tried not to fall off his broom as he heard his special someone's voice promising to "... throw you down onto my bed and tear off your clothes with my teeth ..."

Ron swooped low, caught the Quaffle without really thinking about it and returned it to Ginny. All the while he kept his sight on his beloved. He found he played better, actually, when he wasn't thinking about it.

The enticing voice continued: "... I'll run my hands down your sides and my mouth will cover your body with ..."

"Snakes."

Ron gagged. Then he realised that it was Harry who had said 'snakes', quietly enough that he could have been talking to himself, but loud enough to drown out the intoxicating description which Ron had been rather enjoying, actually.

"Snakes?" he asked his earth-bound captain, a little crossly.

Harry stared at him for a moment, then pulled himself together. "They have real snakes. Did you know? In the Slytherin chamber, erm, dungeons, I mean ..."

"Don't tell me!" Ron said quickly, trying to fly away.

"Oh, yeah, Malfoy ordered me not to tell anyone ..."

"That's what I didn't want to know! Malfoy!"

Just then Harry got smacked by a Bludger and was knocked onto his arse. He leapt up yelping and practice was abandoned. He hobbled back to the castle very slowly. Ron left Ginny to walk with him. He had someone to catch up with.

They walked in silence, Ron relishing fantasies of the two of them naked in the lake which he eavesdropped on, but at the same time wondering how he could make his move.

His soul-mate started to wonder the same thing: " ... you are so close. I could do it now. What could I do now? I wish you weren't straight. If I thought there was any chance that you might like me too, then I'd grab you and kiss you here and now."

Ron realised that he had the advantage. He knew for sure that if he made an advance then it would be welcomed. He lifted the tapestry on the second floor and the two of them ducked into the secret passageway which they all used as a short-cut up to Gryffindor Tower.

It was darker in the passageway. The stone walls should have made it cooler, too, but Ron felt his skin heat up as he heard the thought: "We're alone. Together. Just you and me. Why are you standing still? I'm standing still, too. What's going on? You're looking at me. You're looking at me like ... like you were going to ... I wish you were ... I wish you would ... I'm sure I'm wrong. You'll never kiss me."

Ron thought about cherry blossom in the spring time. He leant forward and grabbed hold of Dean's shoulders, heard, "... you're holding my shoulders, your face is moving closer, your handsome, perfect face is too close to focus. Oh! Your lips are --"

Then he heard a strange, emptying 'pop!' as he crushed their mouths together. He closed his eyes, knowing that he wasn't going to miss any of Dean's thoughts. He knew that he wouldn't hear Dean's secret erotic thoughts ever again. Well, unless Dean decided to whisper them to him late at night when they were curled up in bed together.

Ron pushed Dean against the wall, pressing into him. He felt their erections grind against each other and it was just as Dean had imagined it would be. He felt Dean groaning into his mouth. Dean's hands stroked over his back, down to his buttocks and Ron pictured mashed potato.

"Oi!"

Ron and Dean broke apart, both sucking in air, both becoming aware that there was too much light and that the angry voice they had heard belonged to Ginny. She and Harry were standing in the doorway.

"What?" Ron asked his sister.

"I don't want to find my own brother snogging ... people in public!"

"This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!" said Ron. He should have known, though, should have thought that those two would be right behind them. He didn't think he could have behaved any differently, though, even if he had remembered.

Dean was looking embarrassed. Ron took a step back to give him the space to escape if he wanted to. He looked down onto dark, full lips and wanted to taste them again. Dean stayed where he was.

"Er ... c'mon, Ron," he said, "let's go to the common room ..."

Ron wanted to say 'yes', he really wanted to find a quiet corner where he could run his hands over toned biceps and ...

But he needed to sort things out with Ginny. She was going to have to get used to this.

"You go," he said softly. "I'll be up soon. I want a word with my dear sister, first."

Dean looked over at her furious face and nodded. He looked back reluctantly at Ron as he left.

"Right!" said Ron, glaring at Ginny. "Let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ginny -"

"Yeah it is!" said Ginny, just as angrily. "D'you think I want people saying my brother's a -"

"A what?" shouted Ron, drawing his wand. "A _what_, exactly?"

"She doesn't mean anything, Ron -" muttered Harry, though he looked less than pleased himself.

"Oh yes she does!" Ron said, flaring up at Harry. "Just because she's never snogged anyone in her life, just because the best kiss _she's _ever had is from our Auntie Muriel -"

"Shut your mouth!" bellowed Ginny, bypassing red and turning maroon.

"I've seen you with Harry, hoping he'll accidently brush past you every time you see him. It's pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done yourself you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!"

Furious, Ginny pointed her wand at him.

"Hermione's snogging Crabbe!" shouted Ron. "And Harry's been enjoying an S & M session with Malfoy. It's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ginny, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!"

Ginny had turned to Harry. She was gaping at him, horrified. Harry glared at Ron.

"Snakes!" Ron snapped back at him. Then he pushed past them both and stormed out into the corridor.

He ran down the stairs and back out to the grounds. He knew Dean was waiting for him, but this wouldn't take long. He mounted his broom and flew round to the greenhouses, to the flower bed Madame Sprout kept stocked with lilies. He filled his arms with the scented blooms and flew up to the Gryffindor common room, his heart full of pleasurable expectations.

THE END

_Some passages quote directly from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince._

THERE YOU GO. I HOPE YOU WEREN'T DISAPPOINTED BY THE IDENTITY OF RON'S SECRET ADMIRER. THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS – I'D LOVE TO GET EVEN MORE!!!


End file.
